


Where It's At

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: 1967, 60s AU, Drug Use, Light Angst, M/M, Short One Shot, Summer of Love - Freeform, hippie movement, implied sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 02:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6356014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a stranger comes to Obi Wan seeking information about Anakin Skywalker, he is more than willing to answer their questions. All the while reliving his whirlwind romance with the strange flower child in the midst of the summer of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where It's At

“How did you meet?”

“It was so long ago.”

~~~

I was a journalist living in San Francisco. Pretty well established with a local paper and writing steady articles. I had a nice job, I had a nice place and nice stuff, and things were going pretty well for me. My life was pretty regular, just how I liked it. But the world was changing and I had no idea how much of an impact it would have on my life.

Sociological issues were being thrust into the spotlight by the new counterculture of young people demanding change. Things like racial segregation, women's rights, gay rights, and environmentalism were at the forefront. Protesters took to the streets to demonstrate their anti war philosophy. Traditional ideologies were being thrown away as young men and women gathered together. Some formed communes where they could practice their individuality and disregard for widely accepted cultural norms in peace. Away from the scrutinizing eyes of the outside world where they were regarded as nothing but dirty hippies, dropouts and beatniks. Others crowded the cities and marched the in the streets. The difference between the beliefs of the youth and their parents became known as the generation gap.

The year was 1967. An influx of young radical freethinkers had taken the San Francisco district of Height-Ashbury by storm and transformed the neighborhood into a mecca of the anti-establishment cultural phenomenon. Hippies flocked to the neighborhood, drawn in by the ideals, the drugs, the music, and the sex. Times called it Hashbury and the phrase was “Turn on, tune in, drop out.” The summer of love was in full swing.

Every paper was documenting the new wave, mine was no exception, and I ventured into the thick of it to write my story. That’s how we met. He was sitting on the sidewalk outside of what they called the Psychedelic Shop, smoking and talking to a young girl who had flowers in her hair. I can’t tell you what it was the drew me to him, but I felt a strange gravity pulling at me. So I approached him. I didn’t know what to expect, and what I got was far from what I would have expected.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” 

He looked round and when our eyes locked I was sure glad it was his turn to talk, I probably couldn’t have formed the words anyway. He was so young, his face still holding a boyish innocence, but in those eyes burned a passion I couldn’t quite place.

“You a reporter or something?” 

I hadn’t thought this through. What if these people didn’t want to be documented? What if they resented any outside publicity because of the hateful backlash? What if the man sitting here suddenly became violent, and here I was in the middle of it all with nowhere to run. But as I gazed upon his face, trying to form an answer, I didn’t see anything other than a mild interest. I relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. I thanked the stars I hadn’t made him angry.

“Um, yes. I’m a journalist. I’m writing an article for the local paper. I was wondering if you could answer some questions.” 

The young man seemed unfazed. He looked me up and down, his face unwavering. The girl gave me a smile before she got up to disappear into shop. The stranger still hadn’t answered, and I was sure he was going to say no and tell me to scram. But just as I was about to apologize and leave, I saw him smile with a gleam in his eye. He stood up and I noted how much taller he looked than from his sitting position on the pavement.

“Buy a guy dinner first.” 

It didn’t even cross my mind that it might have sounded strange. I was just happy that he hadn’t told me to fuck off. So I agreed and I took him to a small restaurant where I bought him dinner. I can’t remember what he ordered but he scarfed it down like a ravenous stray dog. And perhaps that’s what he was. Many of the young people who had traveled there had trouble finding food and shelter. I felt a little duped, then a little stupid for feeling duped. It's not like I asked him on a date. It was an interview.

~~~

“What was he like?”

“As radiant as the sun.”

~~~

“What’s your name?”

I asked it as tenderly as I could. I had never been put in a situation like that, and even though I knew I was talking to a human being, it almost felt like I was speaking to an alien. We were exact opposites. If he was anything like the stereotype the media placed on him he was supposed to be a free spirited nonconformist, a drug addicted hippie, bizarre and disagreeable. I was both right and wrong. 

“Anakin.” 

I wasted no time in introducing myself and diving straight into the questions I had prepared. 

“Why are you here?”

“Why are any of us here? We came here to come together.”

“What can you tell me about the subculture you’ve created? What makes one a hippie?”

He smiled at me, and all I could think of was that I was happy he was smiling at me and not glaring. I prayed that my questions weren’t as insulting as I thought they sounded.

“People think we’re just losers, deadbeats and the scum of society. And for some that might be true. But it’s not about the long hair and the funny clothes and drugs, sex and rock and roll. It’s about coming together and having a good time, it’s about bringing awareness to the serious issues that the world has swept under the rug, it’s about self enlightenment and learning how to love yourself and love others. Why should we be constrained by society’s definition of life and love? The world is changing. Love is where it’s at.”

He stared at me as he spoke, never once looking away, smiling at me the whole time. I hung on every word that came out of his mouth, letting it sink in, and wrote furiously in my notepad. I looked up, ready to fire another question at him when he reached over and lowered my notepad with a gentle hand.

“Maybe we should take a walk, I can show you better than I can tell you.”

We were once again in the streets, and I gazed at everything around me with a new perspective and a little more open minded. While I did see the individuals that fit every bit of the part of beatnik hippie, I also saw the ones with the fire in their eyes, hopeful and ready to change the world with their love. Like Anakin, they held the same passions, the ideas of peace and love, and blazing a trail towards a better future. I looked at Anakin. This, while still rough around the edges, was the beautiful side of the movement that sparked so much controversy across the world. 

Anakin showed me many things, and the more I followed him the more I gained a better understanding of the gentle beings I had once thought radical riffraff. They were no longer aliens, but human beings on a rescue mission to save the world. Anakin was no exception. He spoke defiantly against the war and encouraged the application of nonviolence anywhere necessary. He openly expressed his feelings about civil rights, free speech, feminism and gay liberation. Even though he wasn’t the only one I spoke to, introducing me to many like minded individuals who welcomed me with open arms, he seemed to be a shining star of what the culture was really about. 

I jotted down everything I learned, taking note of everything I saw and heard. I learned new words and phrases I had never heard before. Anakin had seemingly taken me under his wing as we dove into the heart of it together, and I learned more than I had originally intended to. I could feel my own thoughts and feelings changing as I delved further. I was beginning to understand their ideals and changing my own. The longer I stayed with him, the more I became one of them. 

We attended music festivals and I let him fix flowers into my hair. Then I did the same for him. He took me to all kinds of places and he stayed near me the whole time, never once leaving my side. We became considerably close and comfortable with each other. He held my hand whenever he could and I could feel my own feelings of fondness for him grow by the day. It wasn’t until later on that I identified what those feelings actually were. Thinking back now I realize that he flirted with me mercilessly, but at the time I was too overwhelmed by everything going on around me to notice. 

One night he convinced me follow him to some kind of rock and roll drug hotbed. Loud, incoherent rock music filled the room and all I could see were people dancing like some sort of ritual was being performed. In the shadows people were making out as if they weren’t in public and able to be seen, and I even saw some dancing naked girls covered in paint. The band themselves didn’t seem to be all there. The lights were flashing vibrantly and a stale smoke hung in the air. I knew it from it’s pungent smell. But I also knew that wasn’t the only drug being used in the room. I was way out of my element.

“Are you going to dance with me?” 

I stared at him wide eyed as he smiled down at me. My mouth hung open as I tried to find the words to speak. I was never much of a dancer, my body was much too rigid for it, let alone for the erratic dancing that seemed to be going on around us. There was no way I was even going to attempt to dance like that. Anakin seemed to notice and he pulled out of small vile of liquid from his pocket.

“This can help. Do you want to try? You can say no, I’ll understand.”

My eyes darted from the vile to his face. He was remarkably cool about it and I decided that I would try it, for him. I didn’t have to say yes, he seemed to recognize the acceptance in my eyes. He smirked and stuck out his tongue, making a small divot, dropping a bit of the liquid inside. I’ll admit I was a little taken off guard, but when he leaned forward towards me, I didn’t hesitate to open my own mouth to his. And when we didn’t stop, I knew I was pleasantly in too deep.

Hours went by and I moved like there were no bones in my body. The music was resonating inside my skull, and I was seeing things only possible in my dreams. Anakin’s body was flush against my own, a constant reminder that no matter what I saw or how I felt, I was completely taken care of. I trusted him. And when I started to lose control and become frantic, my high taking a nasty turn, he whisked me away to a private room to calm me down.

“Hey, it’s okay Obi Wan. I’m right here. You’re alright.”

I heard his voice, soothing like a sweet song, bringing me out of my stupor. As I calmed down, I gazed at him and without words our facial expressions seemed to speak for us. I reached up and brushed a hand over his cheek and he leaned into my touch. Our lips came together once again and I pushed him down onto what I hoped was a bed. The love we made that night was the best I ever had.

~~~

“What happened to him”

“All good things must come to an end.”

~~~

With the coming fall and the dying of the leaves also came the death of the hub of the summer of love. There was even a mock funeral held to mark the end of the scene. The neighborhood had declined due to homelessness, drug usage and crime. Young college students went back to school to resume their studies, Anakin included. I might have asked him to stay, or perhaps if I could go with him. But I knew that what we had that summer couldn’t have lasted, and I had to let him go.

He turned to me before boarding the bus, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes spoke volumes, and we both came to a silent mutual understanding. He stepped forward and kissed me for the last time. I could feel all the passion brimming inside of him and I knew he could feel my sorrow. We were shouted at by a police officer, warning us to stop. But Anakin only reached up to touch my face and I immediately latched onto his shirt. The officer was coming towards us, threatening to arrest both of us. Anakin was ripped from me by a hand on his arm. He smiled at me before the cop shoved him onto the bus, mumbling something about not being able to wait until all the freaks were gone. 

I must have stood there for ten minutes, the bus had long gone, and with it the only piece of peace I’d ever feel. My story was long since finished and published and fading away in some back alley trash can on a yellowing newspaper. But my experience would live on inside me for a long as I lived. I knew there was no way I could ever forget that gentle blonde boy that rushed into my life like a warm summer breeze and then blew away as quickly as he’d come, leaving with a piece of my heart. I thought I would never see him again, but I was wrong. I would see him one more time, but nothing could have prepared me for it.

~~~

“How did he die?”

“You could say it was his passion that lead to his death.”

~~~

A peaceful protest gone wrong. A single accidental bullet was loosed and the scene became a barrage of gunfire. I watched on in horror, a hand clamped firmly over my mouth. The blonde boy I thought longingly about every now and then, I watched him be killed on live television along with many other young men and women who had only come out for peace. I couldn’t move, yet I needed to. I couldn’t speak, yet I yearned to cry out. I could feel a sob building up in my throat. I was angry, so very angry. But it was only for a moment. I remembered the man I was mourning, the summer we spent together and everything he taught me. He wouldn’t want me to be angry. I could hear his voice in my head, telling me my anger wouldn’t bring him back. 

But I couldn’t just stay here and do nothing. I had to take action. I quit my job and packed only what was necessary to survive and I left San Francisco to jump back into the counterculture scene. I couldn’t avenge him, he wouldn’t want me to anyway, but I could pick up where he left off and that’s exactly what I did. I marched in the streets hand in hand with strangers. I passed out flowers. I traveled across the country to attend the Woodstock music festival in New York. I spoke of peace and love and togetherness. I knew he would have been proud.

The 70s brought an end to the Vietnam War and with it the protests for peace. Leading to the eventual end of the movement. The end of the war meant the end of the protests which meant the end of a common goal uniting them all under one cause. Many of them had already become disillusioned with the movement, or just grew out of it. The optimistic idealism the movement preached was not as practical as their younger selves had originally thought. So they moved on. I settled down as well in a remote part of New Mexico, taking a bartending job at a small roadside watering hole. And that’s where I stayed.

~~~

After answering the boys questions, I had plenty of my own. His silence was my opportunity to gain my own information. This kid came in here, I didn’t know him from Adam, and I sang like a canary without any thought. Maybe I had just been too eager to talk about Anakin.

“I didn’t quite catch your name.”

“It’s Luke. Luke Skywalker.”

Skywalker. This was his child. I should have known. From the blonde hair and gentle nature to the same twinkle in his eyes. This was the son of Anakin Skywalker no doubt. But one question remained.

“How did you know that I knew your father?”

The young boy reached into a suspiciously familiar looking duffle bag and pulled out a particularly ratty journal that looked like it had seen better days. It definitely had seen some usage. Luke gently laid it on the table in front of me. I gazed at it, waiting for him to explain.

“This was his. He wrote a lot about you.”


End file.
